In honour of the fabulous Ken Mooney's book Godhead being free this weekend, I thought it would be good to give you a taster of his work.So here's a little teaser excerpt of Godhead.

Excerpt & Poster From Godhead

Olympus would soon be in ruins. The sky overhead burned, smoke and flames licking against a blue dome that arced overhead. That same sky should have been free of clouds, save for when the rains were permitted to come and tend the land. But a black fog had come to spoil its perfect clarity, a thick creature of embers and ashes that haunted the sky, attacking eyes and lungs. Its tendrils whipped through the air, branches of smoke reaching forward in the darkness, ready to wrap their arms around the city. War had come to Olympus, and it would not be quick to leave: it had worked its way through the city’s streets, into its buildings, into the homes and hearts of the city’s inhabitants. It had spread like a sickness, a virus that gathered momentum as it had grown in strength, consuming everything it touched. Only one place had remained untouched by battle, but even here, the signs of war could not be ignored: the Great Temple dominated Olympus’ skyline, giving a view of the city with its mountainous walls on all sides. Smoke obscured the view, but as the thick billows ebbed and flowed, the Great Temple provided a singular watchtower for the city’s destruction. The temple was set atop a stone plateau that rose in the centre of the city; its sides were steep, rising near-vertical from the ground, dark greys lined with gold and marble veins that reflected always-dazzling sunlight. A single flight of steps led up these sharp sides, hewn into the rockface, white marble marching steeply towards the temple’s doors. These steps were a symbol, a test: they were not there to be climbed. They were a penance that visitors should undergo before the gods would entertain them, before they would be allowed access to the temple. As one climbed the steps, the temple rose ahead, filling the gaze, a vast courtyard before it that served as meeting place and statuary. Curved colonnades embraced this plaza, much as the mountains embraced the city below: in each archway stood a different sculpture, heroic figures forged of gold, hewn from marble and stone, keeping watch on this hallowed place. The Great Temple itself rose behind another twelve mighty steps; the building was round, so vast that its size and shape could only be appreciated from the city far below where its white marble burned as a second sun in the daylight, remained an unmoving moon in the twilight. The walls were punctuated with small balconies and windows, walkways and stairs snaking their way between them. But these could not be seen from the courtyard: from here, the temple’s greatest feature was its doors. Constructed from the same marble as the building, the doors were flush with its surface, decorated with gold etchings and jewels. These doors were usually open, welcoming visitors inside after their harsh climb. But at this time, the doors had been sealed, closed against the world outside. This was the home of the gods, and war had come to their city. *** The vast room behind the Great Temple’s doors did not have a name: it was a throne room, a council chamber, a place of festivities that occupied the entirety of this level. Twelve balconies lined the room, giving access to just some of the pathways and chambers that led to the other parts of the Temple. The walls of this room rose high, forming an incomplete dome in the centre of the ceiling, open to the usually-perfect sky beyond. But now it admitted only smoke and ash: the absent sunlight cast the edges of the room in significant shade. Opposite the door, a large throne dominated the room: like much about the temple, it was hewn from perfectly white marble, but this was unblemished with any veins, an oddity in itself. It had no identifying features save for its size, wide enough for several men to sit in, high enough at the back that even were a man to stand on the seat, he would not be able to reach its top. But this room’s most dominating aspect, its most unusual feature, was the pool in the centre of the floor: many believed that the pool was endless, that its depths reached into the very bowels of the earth itself, deeper than any man, mortal or god, could go. Even as the gods had built their temple into the rock beneath this place, they had found the ground beneath this pool unyielding. At its centre was a tree, a bark of silver-white wood that shimmered with light, even in this dark hour. The tree grew from the water itself, its roots stretching just under the surface. It was always in bloom, regardless of the season, always shimmering with a white light that cast rainbows through the water underneath and the marble walls of the room. Some of its blossom had fallen, white petals floating on the smooth water below, clinging to life even as other flora would have drowned. The Olympians had no formal name for this tree: it had been here longer than the city, would no doubt remain even after the walls around it had crumbled. But they knew the truth of its fruit: this was the source of their powers, the very thing that had made their ancestors gods. Many of them believed that the tree was linked to their souls, that if they died, their Essence would return to this place and passed onto another. The war already had a high cost: if this story was true, many of the gods had already returned to the tree. This great room, usually bustling with life, was empty save for one woman, bent low as she stared into the hidden depths of the pool. As she stood to pace, she glanced at the great doors, toying with the idea of leaving the relative safety of the temple, wondering what awaited her beyond the walls. If the gods of Olympus had a queen, this was she. Hera, keeper of the Great Temple, wife of Zeus, and one of the few gods not armed for the battle outside. The gods had no qualms about women on the battlefield, so Hera’s absence was not due to some misogyny. Hera and her capable powers were to be the last defence; if the Great Temple were to fall, Hera had been left explicit instructions, a final effort that could either save or damn the city. On the eve of battle, Zeus had sought her counsel, whispering to her of love, of honour, of duty. In Hera, Zeus had sown the seeds of a plan, of a victory for the gods, a victory that necessitated her survival; if the gods were to survive, Hera would be the instrument of their salvation. The other gods knew of his plan: he gave them the courtesy of voicing their disagreement and their dissent, but it remained a courtesy. All of the gods knew the dangers that they would face, knew the toils that battle had already taken on their kind. The gods did not love Hera, not like they loved Zeus; what deference they showed her was tied to her age, to her powers and her position. Even as they bowed before her, they did not lower their eyes. It was her own fault: she had done little to earn their trust, allowing herself to be consumed with challenging the purity of her husband’s bastard children, of clinging to the Olympian throne. Her pride had made her many enemies, most of them in her own family. But as that family had withered and fallen to war, Hera had realised the error of her ways for one reason alone: Hera feared for her life. She bent once more, white and cream skirts gathered around her so she could kneel low, drifting one hand through the waters of the pool and sending ripples across its surface. The water sent fire through her senses; at once warm and cool, at once permissive and resisting her touch. In its waters, her reflection was that of a much older woman than she remembered, her hair and face turned grey and blue by the waters’ depths. A whip-crack of sound caused her to start, rising to her full height and letting the skirts fall from her lap. She dressed simply, as did most of the gods, beige robes covering her shoulders but leaving her arms bare, a fine golden braid tied around her waist and hanging loose on her right side. In her auburn hair she wore a simple golden diadem, two golden bars criss-crossing in waves. She turned to find Hermes mere feet behind her: in the vastness of the chamber, he was startlingly close. His robe was loose around his waist, hanging above his knees, his smooth chest bare to the elements, legs strapped into leather sandals. He wore a crimson cloak draped around his shoulders, hanging loose down his back as he leaned on his staff for support, a spiral of wood decorated with gold as tall as he was, the spiral doubling and twisting apart as the staff approached its tip. “My queen, I came as soon as I could.” His eyes darted low, refusing to meet her gaze. “Hermes?” Hera’s tone was brisk, pointed. She had enough of her time alone in this room; if Hermes had come with news, she would prefer that he share it. She stepped forward, her heart beating fast as he turned his face; he would not look at her, turning away as she tried to search his features. She knew that Hermes would not abandon the battle were it not necessary; she feared the worse. Her hand touched his chin, pulling his face to look at her own: even as she did so, his eyes moved away. His face was red, nearly as red as his cloak; his eyes were dark, burnt by smoke and tears. A long gash broke his youthful features, torn into his face, wet with blood as it stretched from his right eye down to his lip. “My queen.” He looked at her, tears falling freely. “It is Zeus. Your…Zeus has fallen.”

Ivan Amberlake is an urban fantasy writer whose début novel “The Beholder” was selected for review by Harper Collins on December 1, 2011. He is currently working on Book 2 of The Beholder series called “Path of the Heretic” and the continuation of “Diary of the Gone”. Ivan has a Masters Degree in Linguistics and works as a teacher. His greatest passion is writing.Ivan has contributed to the newly released book "Fusion" a set of short stories produced by the members of Breakwater Harbor Books. His piece is called Diary Of The Gone and there is a short excerpt below to wet the appetite.

Below are the links to download the book and its free via Smashwords!! So download and enjoy!!!

Diary of the Gone, a short excerpt from Ivan Amberlakes short story from the Fusion anthology.

Chapter 1 Entry #4 January 8I step inside a Shadow. It’s a black-and-white movie with no sound. I watch those who have only a few moments to live. While the rest of the world passes by with blind eyes, I see them dying, screaming into silence, and I just stand and watch death taking them.The Shadow lasts for only a few moments, and then the movie is over. Color fades in around me, but I know the people I saw will soon be dead. The knock on the door made me wince, and the knife bit into my index finger. Blood trickled from the deep wound, leaving splotches over the counter. That wasn’t the way my day should have begun. “Son of a bitch!” I let go of the bread. The knife clattered into the sink. Not to spill any more drops onto the kitchen counter, I put my finger into my mouth and sucked the blood voraciously. The coppery taste spread over my tongue, my empty stomach rumbling in displeasure. The knock-knock-knock came again. The source of my severe cut and pain throbbing through my finger. I crossed the small kitchen to the front door and wrenched at the handle to see my best friend Nathan standing on the porch. “Ah, it’s you,” I mumbled, still feasting on my finger. “Come on in.” Though Nathan and I were the same age, I had to raise my head a great deal to look into his blue eyes and at his lopsided smile. “Hey, what’s up?” “Just cut my finger,” I said, my head swimming a bit. I’d never been fond of blood, let alone of my own. Nathan followed me to the kitchen, where I returned to the counter with my lunch half ready and bloodstained. “Mmm, looks yum,” he said, eyeing my ruined attempt at making a burger. I scoffed, happy to see that the blood stopped dripping down my finger. “Anyone home?” he asked, taking a seat on one of the stools. “Nope. Out of town for the day.” “Good,” Nathan said. “I want to show you something.” “What is it?” I opened the freezer to get some frozen French fries, tore the pack open and poured some into a glass bowl. Nathan knew how to pique my interest—well, more often than not whatever he had to show was terrific, but today I decided to stay cool not to give away my enthusiasm. “Can’t tell you. And it’s not here.” “Where is it?” “In the Swamps,” he said as I put the bowl into the microwave oven and turned it on. Nathan picked up a leaf of lettuce next to him and started munching it, looking me right in the eye. The Swamps. The least desirable place apart from the graveyard and the school I’d attended for nearly a month here in Olden Cross. “Of course it’s in the Swamps. Can it be anywhere else?” I said, trying not to show my apprehension, but the casual nod he gave me was proof he knew how I felt. “So you’re afraid of going there, Cal?” Nathan’s lopsided grin only became wider. “I wonder if you’re more scared of your mom or the Swamps? Or maybe it’s your sister?” He shoved the rest of the lettuce leaf into his mouth. “What about my sister?” I demanded. “I’m not afraid of her. You know what? Let’s go. I only need to grab my parka.” Nathan chuckled as I scooped the hot fries with a napkin. “Do you know you just owned to it?” “To what?” “That Mom and Bev scare the bejesus out of you.” “Will you go to hell, Nate?” I said. “Are we going or not?” “Sure.” I put on my old dark-red parka, scooped the keys from the bowl, and we left. The wind whistled its mournful song as purple skies loomed lower, grim and forbidding. From what I knew about Olden Cross, the skies were always like this here. We trudged through the mush of fallen leaves for about a half hour, the ground a mosaic of vibrant red and yellow. Trees swayed their skeletal branches while sponge-like moss shriveled under my feet. Now that we were approaching the Swamps, my cut finger started throbbing again. As I took another step, icy water trickled into my new sneakers. “Dammit!” I jerked my leg up, but the sneaker was already soaked. “C’mon, Callum,” Nathan urged, rolling his eyes. “We’re nearly there.” He still hadn’t told me what he wanted me to see. Did I have any other choice but to follow him? As we threaded our way through the darkening swamped forest, I wondered why I listened to him and went wherever he wished. “How much farther are we going?” I asked. He pointed ahead with his index finger. “It’s there.” I hadn’t been to the forest very often during the day. I didn’t know why, but each time I approached it, goosebumps popped all over my arms and back, and today was no exception. My heart raced like mad, warning me that we’d encroached on someone else’s territory. Someone we shouldn’t disturb. Nathan turned his head left and right, then said in a hushed tone, “Wait.” He looked down and I did the same. At first I didn’t spot anything out of the ordinary, but when I looked at the withered grass at my feet more closely I knew it was flecked with blood. I gulped, cold fear sliding down my limbs. “What the hell is that?” I muttered, but Nathan wasn’t in the mood to answer any of my questions today. “Let’s go,” he just said. The farther we followed the trail, the more blood there was. “This is not the worst part,” Nathan said, a maniacal glint in his eyes. “What? Are you kidding me?” I panicked. Both of us took cautious steps forward. “Are you sure we should go on?” I asked. Nathan nodded without saying anything. “What is there?” I kept firing questions. “You’ll see.” Nathan waved at me to keep following him. The feeling of someone watching us persisted, and I didn’t like where this was going. A low buzzing soon filled my head, with a sickly sweet smell tickling my nostrils. The trail led behind a tree, and something told me I’d better not see what was there. We made a few more steps, and then I gagged at the most horrifying sight I’d ever seen in my life. There in the grass, in a pool of its own blood, lay a deer, disemboweled, a swarm of flies feasting on its carcass. The fetid odor hit my nostrils, churning my stomach. I covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve and turned away from its lackluster eyes. “Gawd!” I moaned, taking a few steps away from the poor animal. “What the hell is this?” Nathan backed away as well, but kept staring at it, then turned to me. “Cal, the question is what is it doing here? By the looks of it, it’s been here awhile. And all the animals left the Swamps years ago. How come this one ended up here?” Whatever Nate was talking about, I didn’t care. “I don’t know, man. I hope that’s all that you wanted to show me ’cos I really feel like I’m going to throw up,” I said, still covering my nose not to breathe in the putrid stench. A stick snapped a few yards to the left of us, and the world lost the little color it had. It was the worst thing that could happen to me, my gift and my curse—the Shadow. A dark-haired boy with a thin, pale face stood staring at me. A deep gash ran down the left side of his face, his neck bruised to a dark purple. As he wheezed fog escaped his cracked lips. I looked around, and to my horror there was no Nathan, no animal rotting under the tree. No one except that boy. He extended his hand to me, when of their own accord lacerations started showing on his skin. Circles, triangles and numbers came out, as if there was someone invisible hurting him. Tears beaded his dead eyes as he sobbed. Then he opened his mouth wider and shouted, “Run!” What made it more frightening was that he shouted in Nathan’s voice. The colors returned, together with the stench. Someone yanked me by the sleeve, dragging me away from the place. Where the boy had been, stood a woman I’d seen once before. Mrs. Palmer. The school librarian. Dressed in long, black clothes, she reminded me of a raven that had taken a human form and forgotten to shift back. I knew that we’d better get the hell out of there. Raw instinct to survive spurred me to run. Nate tugged at the sleeve of my parka harder, and I let my fear claw hold of me. We sprinted away, no longer caring about the pools of water in our way. Spray of droplets scattered in all directions as our sneakers pounded the ground. I jumped over a log of a fallen tree, and my foot stuck into the mud. I dropped onto the mossy ground, staining my jeans with green. “Oh, crap!” Nathan helped me up, and I tried to rub the dirt off, but only made it worse. Panting, we rushed towards the edge of the wood; trees seemed to close in on us, and I thought the wood would never end. Finally we made it, exiting a few hundred meters away from my home. “Holy crap! What the hell was with you?” Nathan asked, then coughed. “I don’t know,” I said, air whooshing out of my burning lungs. “It was so weird.” “She just appeared out of nowhere. And you stared at her without blinking. You two scared the hell out of me!” he said, taking a look back. I looked back as well, glad to see only the skeletons of leafless trees, and no Mrs. Palmer. “Do you want my advice, pal?” Nathan said. “Never approach that woman. She’s mental. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out it’s she who kidnapped Greg.” Greg. Greg Thornby. I remembered the story well. Greg Thornby had gone missing a few days before Mom, Beverly, and I arrived at Olden Cross. After a few months’ search his body hadn’t been found, and the inquiry still continued. I’d never met the boy, but I suspected it was him standing there with his hands stretched towards me. The image still caused goosebumps all over me. What if Nate was right, and it was Mrs. Palmer who killed Greg? After a few minutes we slowed down a bit, still breathless and shaking. I looked a real mess, with the green stains and dirt over my jeans.Now I’ll have to come up with something to tell my mom, I thought grimly. My thoughts were interrupted by the voice I hated more than the sound of nails screeching against a blackboard. “Well, well, well, little Callie’s got poo all over himself. Did you do it to him, Rushmore?” Cheering and laughter followed the remark. I turned around, my teeth clenched. A group of thugs were closing in on us. Stan Crosby, the boy who spoke, was in the center, flanked by four guys on either side. They made my life a living hell. During the short time I’d been in Olden Cross, he’d given me a couple of black eyes, tripped me whenever he saw me, and humiliated me in every possible way. The son of the school principal, he easily got away with it, and I didn’t feel like blabbering about every one of his pranks to my mom. Just had to live with it. Nathan took a step towards the group. “Back off, Stan, or—” “What? Are you going to kick me?” Stan’s group produced another round of cheering and whistling. “I definitely will.” Nate balled his fists and took another step. I grabbed him by the sleeve and whispered, “He isn’t worth it. You’ll only get another detention.” To my relief, Nate didn’t argue. “Right, Rushmore, listen to the loser.” Stan folded his arms, a smug smile playing on his face. “You’re lucky we’re not in the mood to kick your sorry asses today. But we will be next time.” He turned to his cronies. “Come on, guys, let’s go.” They rushed past us, Stan giving me a hard push with his shoulder. I tried my best not to flinch, even though the push hurt as if his shoulder was made of rock. As their silhouettes and voices retreated into the distance, Nate and I stood watching them. For a few minutes, I forgot about what had happened at the Swamps. Though lightning never struck twice, something told me my bad luck for the day wasn’t over yet. If bad things were bound to happen to me, today would be the day. “Let’s go,” Nate said. “Wayne and Audrey are waiting for us.” * Olden Cross was a small godforsaken town, fringed for the most part by an ancient forest. The old townsfolk said it used to be a village whose first two streets formed a cross. As time passed, more people arrived here and the village turned into a small town. A few more streets appeared, but the name stuck. The two-story cottage where my mom, sister, and I moved to belonged in a row of cottages that stood closest to the woods. Nathan and I veered off the road, taking a turn away from my house and the forest. As the horrors of today played back in my mind, I decided to break the silence. “Are we going to tell the guys what happened?” I asked. “Sure. We need to tell them about the animal and Mrs. Palmer. There’s something weird going on, and we’ve got to find out everything.” He offered me a humorless smile, a sign he was being serious. That was Nathan. Never reasonable, always dragging himself and those close to him into trouble. “Do you think she killed that animal?” I asked. “Definitely.” He furrowed his brow, his lips squeezed in a grim line. I started tsking and snapping my fingers, which I knew irritated him, but at least it helped me distract myself from the haunting images of the boy in the forest. “By the way, here they are,” Nathan said. Wayne and Audrey. Perhaps the two people I envied most of all in the whole world. Only a year older than me, they already held hands in public, kissed at the back of our school, and did who-knew-what-other things that I, the loner of Olden Cross as I called myself, couldn’t. I’d never even had a girlfriend. For a fifteen-year-old I had way too many things wrong about me, yet this one made me probably the most miserable. Everyone at school compared them to Romeo and Juliet, and now that I saw them holding hands I wished it was me with Audrey instead of Wayne. “Hey, guys!” Nathan called. I shot an uncomfortable look at Audrey, mumbling a hardly audible hello, then looked down as if in shame. Well, did I mention I felt like a total loser when girls were around? With Audrey I was a real mess. She was special, a flawless angel with perfect auburn hair, and an aroma of peaches around her. But what chance did I have to date such a girl? Zilch. Wayne looked us up and down, curiosity twinkling in his eyes. “Where’ve you been? Looks like you had fun today.” Both he and Audrey smiled. “We’ve got to tell you something,” Nathan said enthusiastically, as if what we’d gone through was something enjoyable. “Maybe you’ll tell us when we get to the Underground?” Wayne asked, smiling. “Okay then,” Nate replied. “Erm, sorry, guys,” I said. “I just realized … I promised Mom I’d come home early.” Though that was a lie, everyone seemed to believe it. Nathan shrugged. “All right, man. If you change your mind, you know where to find us.” I nodded, turned around and ran home as fast as my sprained ankle let me.

Ivan also has another book out at the moment called The Beholder. It's an urban fantasy, with some very dark elements. It's climbing the charts really well at the moment, and if stories of darkness and light are your thing, then you should check it out.

The blurbWorlds of light and darkness are about to clash. And Jason will be in the thick of it.

Around the world people die under mysterious circumstances. Each has a sign. Each is a piece of a jigsaw puzzle. A NYC interior designer Jason Walker receives a message saying he is the final piece.

Emily Ethan, a startling beauty with supernatural powers, appears and tells Jason that powers dormant within him are about to wake. He is the only person who can prevent darkness from enslaving the world. He is the Beholder whose advent has been awaited for many years.

Setting out on a journey with Emily, Jason discovers the world he could have never imagined, but the greatest surprise arrives the moment he realizes he has fallen in love with Emily.

THE BEHOLDER

Prologue

In darkness, Pariah crept along the wall of the ancient corridor, black eyes squinting toward the end of the passage. A silvery glimmer streamed through the archway, and he flattened himself into the shadow, out of the way of the shimmering light. With every heartbeat the light grew more intense, until he was forced to halt and close his eyes to block it out, if only for a little while.

The Ethan girl was there, crouching behind the silvery dome she’d created in the center of the vast hall. It had cost them a lot of effort to track her down, and now part of the plan had been accomplished: he and seven other Shadows had brought her to bay.

Opening his eyes again, Pariah took a step forward and winced at the subsequent burn. I shouldn’t go any closer. He clenched his knuckles and the movement hurt, driving fury through him. He wanted to crush her, destroy her Light … but she was dangerous and unpredictable.

What if she escapes? This may be our only chance to catch her. Pariah inhaled, reaching for patience. He must wait for her to make the fatal mistake, wait for her to leave her refuge. He envisaged his skulking brethren, guarding the other exits like spiders, and he grinned in malicious delight. She won’t get away this time.

Currents of crimson energy flowed through Pariah and his brothers, the force aimed towards a circle of whirling silver light. But the girl remained unaffected, sheltered by its brightness. No, he realized, watching the stream. This was not the way she would be killed. The currents could kill an ordinary person—in fact, hundreds of them in one second—but not a Sighted one. What they needed in order to break such a defense was an inhuman hatred. Pariah knew how to do it, but this wasn’t the time. His objective was to lure the girl into the trap, not kill her. First he would torture her, learn her secrets, then he would kill her.

Against the Light he was a better warrior. His hands were stained with the blood of the many Sighted he had slain. Patience, he told himself. She won’t be able to stay there for--

Searing pain shot up his spine, burning like acid and paralyzing him, sucking out his breath. All he could do was stare as an effulgent creature emerged from the circle, brighter than the explosion of a supernova, and watch that violent star head in his direction. The closer she got, the more she stifled the darkness inside him. Disgust rose as he sensed what was happening. It was as though love had been sewn into his hateful mind; twinges of conscience were waking in him, eradicating his inherent evil.

He tried to slow time, to stop the burning pain, but she knew how to block his attempts and make him suffer even more. The laws of physics meant as little to her as they did to him, and both abused their gifts to attain their aims. She was quicker than any of the Sighted ones who had previously crossed his path. He knew she was just as aware of him as he was of her, but she was stronger. For the first time in his dark existence, Pariah knew fear.

It happened too quickly. With ease, she breached the vicious circle he and the others had formed, and shot past, leaving a comet trail twinkling in her wake. Pariah stared after her, thinking through the decision she’d made. The trail was a block, not an attack. The Ethan girl had decided to protect herself from the shadow’s evil mind rather than use her power to kill him.

How noble—and naïve—to spare your enemy’s life, Pariah mused.

His confidence returned, but his hands still glowed bright from her energy. He dispersed the vapor trail she’d left and warped his mouth to let out a horrific banshee howl. The terrible sound reverberated off the walls, rising in magnitude, and he hoped the amplified echo might hamper her flight. His brethren chimed in to reinforce the cursing howl as they swished past and darted after her, but Pariah remained stationary, suffering the agony of having been imbued with her Light.

He reached his hands in her direction, slowing her nimble movements as much as he could, but the distance between them only increased. Wasting no time—for he had no more to lose—he threw himself forward, steadily gaining speed, watching tunnels rush by on either side. Acting purely on instinct, Pariah cut a rupture in space and flung himself into the blackness. This time he exited much closer to her, and his success spurred him on to try again.

Cut—plunge into blackness—return to reality. That was the process.

The sickening light came closer with every surge. Understanding his intentions, the others reassembled to help the Evil One coax the girl into the trap. Pariah was desperate, aware he would only get one chance. He took a final plunge into the ruptured darkness and the action brought him through at last. He reappeared directly in front of her, and she braked, glowing with that detestable light.

For a brief moment, Pariah managed to discern her face, the amber eyes wide with fear. Then it was gone in an eruption of burning brightness. He sent a wave of dark energy at her, and her shield disintegrated. Pariah’s fury transformed into a victorious pulse; he had broken her defenses, and now she lay convulsing with pain, his deadly energy choking the life out of her.

Chapter 1

Streams of translucent sunlight seeped onto New York, setting the windows of the Chrysler Building, among so many others, ablaze. It was normal for people to rush along the sidewalk, passing each other without making eye contact. What was abnormal was the way the sky rolled overhead, darkening with each moment until the early morning light seemed swallowed up by night.

Jason drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his sedan, frustrated at being stuck in traffic. He hated being late, and today he had the added pressure of a big presentation for which he’d been preparing for the past month.

A couple of women on the sidewalk stopped and pointed skyward, talking amongst themselves, so Jason leaned forward and looked up through the windshield, watching the storm cloud sprawl above the city like a purple bruise. As he inched closer to the Evelyn & Laurens building, a gust of wind wailed by, shaking the car and throwing thick raindrops against the windshield and roof.

“Nice,” Jason grunted.

He clicked a button on the control panel, and the wipers squeaked back and forth, sweeping the water away. Turning into the parking lot, he grabbed the only spot left, collected his folder, and took a deep breath before getting out. Shielding his head with the bulging folder, he scurried across the parking lot, maneuvering his way between the cars, but the folder was poor protection. An icy blast whipped across his face, reducing his dark brown hair to a sodden mess. When the wind picked up and nearly ripped the folder from his hand, Jason gave up on using it as an umbrella and clutched it tightly to his chest instead, barely managing to keep it in his grip.

He crossed the remaining distance, trying unsuccessfully to hop over streams of water, and shoved through the revolving doors. Water dripped from his new suit and pooled by his feet as he waited for the elevator, and he eyed his folder dubiously. He could only hope his paperwork wasn’t as drenched as he was.

“Of course it had to happen today,” he muttered.

Why couldn’t even one thing go right when it was supposed to? Had anything ever gone right? Like that time two years before when his plane from Manchester to New York had flown into an ash cloud and nearly crashed. The plane landed safely, but Jason celebrated his survival by ending up in a car accident not long after. He escaped with only a few cuts and bruises, but several others were severely injured. Dumb luck.

And then there was the day he had moved to the new apartment. After that, things had only gotten worse.

In half an hour, he thought, as butterflies created mayhem in his stomach, I’ll be fired.

The doors opened, and he stepped into the elevator, together with a crowd of people thoroughly soaked just like him. A pretty blonde he hadn’t noticed before wedged against him on the left, but when Jason smiled, her eyes shot green daggers at him. His smile waned, and he was relieved when the doors finally opened so he could get out.

More frustrated by the moment, he stormed into the office, paying no attention to the familiar chic surroundings, and slammed the door behind him. He wasn’t surprised to see his co-workers, Matthew Allen and Debbie Eve, had already arrived.

Matthew swiveled in his chair, giving Jason a smile no one could resist. “Did you have a good night last night?”

Jason shrugged, then winced as a cramp grabbed his stomach. “Just stayed in.”

“You should have come to the party,” Debbie said. “We missed you.”

“Yeah, well I had—”

A soft knock interrupted their conversation, and a woman with black-rimmed glasses and a svelte navy suit entered their office. Jason stiffened reflexively. Evelyn, their boss, was in her late forties but looked ten years younger. It seemed to Jason she never stopped smiling. She was friendly enough, but there was something intimidating about her eyes. They never smiled.

As soon as the door latched behind her, the three of them rushed to make a new copy of the soaked report. Ordinarily, Jason, Matt, and Debbie weren’t the least bit nervous at meetings. Today, however, they were under pressure to coerce the clients to sign a contract for a substantial sum. Evelyn & Laurens specialized in interior design. Jason called it an anthill of psychos and maniacs. And though it could be fast-paced, after working here for three years Jason happily admitted that being a maniac wasn’t so bad.

As the three walked in silence to the conference hall, the pain in Jason’s stomach intensified, twisting so that he almost doubled over. He suddenly wished he’d taken the time to eat breakfast.

“You okay?” Debbie asked quietly. “You’re really pale.”

“Stomach’s killing me,” he admitted.

“I’ll do the presentation if you want.”

“That’d be terrific, Debbie. Thanks.”

Inside the hall, the clients sat waiting in a semi-circle. A smiling Evelyn sat opposite them, chatting away. She’d switched the lights in the room on since the ugly cloud had overwhelmed the sun, and the room lit even brighter with a sudden flash of lightning, echoed by a faint rumble of distant thunder.

As if in response, Jason’s stomach convulsed. His knees wobbled, and he reached for a chair, barely able to stand. No. Please no! He took his seat, aware of a bead of perspiration trickling down his spine, and stared at the table. The storm worsened outside, and it seemed to Jason that the closer it came, the worse he felt.

It wasn’t breakfast. It wasn’t nerves. He knew what it was, though, and he was helpless to do anything about it. Trying to control the agony he knew would only get worse, he clenched his clammy palms until his nails dug in, but the pain in his stomach took over his mind, crushing him. Though he wanted to sit, he knew he had to get out, knew he couldn’t take it anymore. He leapt to his feet just as a bolt of lightning struck the neighboring building, and the accompanying thunder rattled the windows of the conference room. Everyone jumped and turned towards the window, and the building’s lights flickered a few times before going out completely.

Jason stumbled out of the darkened room, vaguely aware that the pain in the pit of his stomach had spread throughout his entire body. No one can stand this kind of pain, he thought.

He tried to distract himself, counting out loud as he raced toward the bathroom, but nothing helped. Inside the bathroom he gripped the rim of the sink, swallowing a scream as his left shoulder burst into an agony so sharp it was as if a nail had been driven into it. With an effort, he scooped water onto his face and gasped as it prickled like millions of tiny needles against his skin. He squeezed his eyes closed and saw … the impossible. Images—memories he’d never known—gushed out and seared themselves into his mind.

No, not again, he pleaded silently.

The shadows had returned. He knew them so well: relentless pillars of smoke that thrived on his blood. Fighting for breath, he clutched the sink, letting sweat drip from his face into the porcelain bowl. When he snapped his head up to look in the mirror, he stepped back, shocked.

“No way.”

Five words were smeared across the mirror, written in what had to be blood. Nothing else left that shade of red behind.

We are coming for you.

The room spun, and Jason dropped to the floor, falling into the yawning blackness.

A Quick Get To Know The Author

Five facts about you that people won’t know about you. Can you juggle? Ride a bike with no hands? Drink beer upside down? Something unusual… GO!

1. I can play the guitar, not like something romantic, but really heavy metal that gives most people a splitting headache.

2. I know I’ll have some good luck if a black cat crosses my path. In my country they are always considered bad luck, but I see them in a different way.

3. Even though my favourite number is 7, I cannot help admitting 13 brings me luck. I once purchased a lottery ticket that had 13 as a serial number, and the lottery took place on the 13th. To my surprise, I got back the money I spent on the ticket, and I never win anything.

4. I used to collect English dictionaries – glossaries, thesauruses, grammar reference books. That was the first thing I looked for in a book store.

5. I love sitcoms like The Big Bang Theory, Friends and some others. I can watch them over and over again, just can’t help myself.

Five facts about your newest book that people won’t know. Some background history on one of your characters maybe? Maybe it was going to be called something completely different to start out with? Is it the same genre it started out as?

1. The Beholder started as a completely different book, and I had only one character when I started writing it. It was a while later that the other characters appeared.

2. I added romance into the book though initially I wasn't going to.

3. It often seems to me the book wrote itself—even in the first draft I found places I liked, but never remembered writing about. I don’t know if that happens to all writers or just me, but it’s a fascinating feeling.

4. I had a different ending to the book. It made my beta readers and editor so confused they kept asking to explain what was really going on in there. I eventually had to make a different ending, which most readers really like and find unexpected.

5. It took me about 3 years to finish this book—I really hope it will take less time for me to write the next one.

Five facts about your next book… Name, genre, expected date of release…

1. It’s called Path of the Heretic. It’s Book 2 of The Beholder Series.

2. It’s still Urban/Paranormal Fantasy, but with a darker tinge.

3. I hope it will be published in 2014.

4. There will be more characters, more action, and more mysteries.

5. I’m planning a huge surprise at the end of the book.

Three tips that you think might be useful for other authors… anything you want. It could be, to write a certain amount every day, only write after midnight and never get Gizmo wet (Sorry, that’s Gremlins not writers! My bad.) Maybe it’s some information that was given to you that has helped your process…

1. My first tip: Don’t stop writing. Once you do it’s really—nearly impossible—to get back to it. You’ll find too many reasons not to sit at your desk and go on writing a book.

2. Not to be tempted to do anything else, switch off your Internet. Just for half an hour a day—it’ll tremendously increase your chances to write something new or revise something old (at least that worked for me).

3. If you don’t have an editor, find a few friends who will care enough to read your book and offer you their sincere thoughts. I know it’s difficult, but you should try. And it would be cool if your friends were harsh in their critique, because that’s what actually helps a writer make his or her book better. As my fellow writer said, “Wouldn’t you rather get a harsh private critique than a scathing one-star review on Amazon?” I hope that’ll helps.

It's here! The first, but not last, joint release from the Breakwater Harbor Books members.Fusion! A fusion of everything from horror, to romance, to sci-fi, to so much more. Myself and all the members are extremely pleased to bring this book out, and really hope that you all enjoy it.At the moment, it's FREE on Smashwords, and only 77p on Amazon. It WILL be FREE on Amazon soon (when Amazon catch up and price match), and it will be releasing in paperback very soon too.For some of the authors, this is their first publication, for others it's their first anthology, but regardless on whether it is our first or our last book, for any author it's always a nerve-wracking experience when we release any book. There's the, will anyone buy it? thoughts, to the will it be any good?, to the PLEASE, SOMEONE LEAVE A DAMN REVIEW! Until releasing Limerence earlier this year, I never realised just how important it was to leave reviews. But it really is so very imprtant.So, please download it if you think it's your sort of thing-heck it's FREE and/or VERY cheap, then read it, review it, and if you like some of the authors in the book, go look them up and buy some of their other books. On with the show. Here's the blurb for FUSION.Fusion: A collection of short stories from Breakwater Harbor Books’ authors

Featuring gripping Independent authors from around the world, FUSIONis the first collection of short works published by Breakwater Harbor Books. Contributing heart-pumping tales of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror and Crime are seven stories that will thrill you, rivet you and some will even make you sleep with the light on. Authors from across a wide variety of genres, Dee Harrison, Ivan Amberlake, Claire C. Riley, Scott J. Toney, Mindy Haig, Cara Goldthorpe and C.M.T. Stibbe.

The Sliver of Abilon – A Mirrorsmith Tale– 'and you thought it was safe to look in the mirror?'

Diary of the Gone - Without a girlfriend, bullied by the Principal’s son, and haunted by the dead, Callum Blackwell thinks his life can’t get any worse. But he’s wrong.

Life Ever After. Nina's Story: Part one.– When the dead begin to rise, it's time to put your differences aside and run!

NovaFall – When the Meteor falls, the essences will come, forging flesh and planetary souls as one.

Cybilla. – To claim his Muse, one man must find the gate between the mortal and the immortal worlds.

Capturing Perfection– An artist's tale of love, loss and beauty in Renaissance Milan

Until The Ninth Hour – Until a man loses his daughter to a serial killer, until he loses his best friend, until he is down on his luck, Darryl Williams must put all thoughts of retaliation out of his mind.

An excerpt from Dee Harrison’s The Sliver of Abilon – A Mirrorsmith Tale

Junah Venmark, Master Mirrorsmith, exited the wayportal directly into the seaweed stench of Abilon. The foul odourtickled the back of his throat and he gagged on a rise of bile. Mirrorsmith Guild protocol demanded that he preview his destination before he arrived but it could not prepare him for an assault on his other senses. He vomited onto the trackway, just thankful that there was no-one to witness his most pitiful entrance ever. He loathed the smell of mouldy greens – it stirred up too many reminders of his wretched childhood in the back alleys of Varna, largest city on his homeworld of Vargo – but this was kabbige soup intensified tenfold.

When his heaving subsided, Junah sank down onto his rump, trying to ignore the early evening dew which was soaking into his leggings. He pulled a kerchief from his belt-purse, to wipe the spittle from his lips, and cursed this ill-favoured world. Sissik, his wail,chittered and scurried around him like a silver-furred cyclone, mewing her distress. Junah winced when she skipped onto his tender stomach, the better to peer into his face with her large, prosimian eyes. He ran a finger down her spine and she slowly relaxed beneath his touch.

Sissik wrinkled her own nose. Nasty, nasty stink,she concurred.Junah delved into his purse a further time and extracted a couple of lozenges from a packet. A few chews later and he could smell nothing.

“Next time I’ll take ‘em before I get here,” he promised out loud. “Not that there’ll be a next time!”

Junah clambered to his feet and peeled the sodden fabric from his buttocks. Sissik took her accustomed place on his shoulders, hiding beneath his long, dark hair and curled around his neck like a fur collar. Wails were native to all the worlds of the Regium, even the undeveloped ones like Abilon. Some wails, the silver-furred ones like Sissik, were prized for their ability to generate the acoustic frequencies that Mirrorsmiths depended upon. Others, the plumper, browner ones, made goodeating. Whenever Sissik irritated him, which was often, Junah threatened to dye her coat russet. Now, however, she was quiescent, understanding that it was time for work.

The wayportal, part of the network of gates that connected all the worlds of the Regium, had opened between a pair of standing stones that dominated the headland to the north of Abilon. Junah looked down at the coastal town, which nestled within the arms of a sheltering bay. A slash of fire on the horizon marked where the sun was setting and silhouetted the ugly,squat fortress guarding the harbour mouth. Somewhere among the sleazy alleyways of this provincial rats’ nest below was the inn where his contact waited. It was supposed to be a routine mission according to Teren Lemmick, Guild Masterbut also his oldest friend. All Junah had to do was locate the sliver of Desecrated Mirror, secure it then return it to the Mirrorsmiths’ Guild on Vargo, where it could be destroyed in relative safety. He had carried out scores of such ‘grabbits’ but this time unease pricked his spine. Mirrorsmiths tended towards the superstitious and worlds like Ysreal, with its triple moons,were considered inauspicious but this went deeper than that. Junah’s senses were trained to detect distorted vibrations and this place was riddled with them – probably due to the presence of the sliver. Sissik’s tail tightened around his neck so he dampened down his disquiet. Wails were sensitive to heightened emotion. He checked his accoutrements once more then headed for Abilon, thinking it best to get this trip over with as quickly as possible.

Despite the lateness of the hour, the streets of Abilon were crowded. Every third house seemed to be selling ale and shabby, ill-visaged townsfolk bumped and barged their way through the densely-packed lanes. Junah knew roughly where the inn lay but he had previewed it during daylight and it took him a while to reach the waterfront. He spent a few minutes reconnoitering then pulled his hood up and entered the tavern.

If that doesn't tempt you, then perhaps Ivan Amberlakes Diary of the gone excerpt will. It's a ghostly, creepy taale that gave me chills when I read it. Keep your eyes peeled later on for it, along with a little interview I did with him, and maybe even another small surprise!

It was early afternoon when Red decided to venture outside. The woods surrounding her granny’s house seemed far less menacing by day. The weather was so perfect that she wanted nothing more than to hop onher little motorcycle and go for a long ride in the countryside. It was quite upsetting to think that her little man was sitting alone in the woods, unwatched and well out of her reach. She could only hope that the mysterious rider would soon return to help her retrieve it. The path that Red had walked down the night before looked safe and inviting in the daylight. It took her only a brief moment of debate before deciding there could be no harm in taking a short stroll. Every step she took came with a new and wonderful fragrance to enjoy. The sounds of the forest were a delight to her ears. Birds sang cheerful melodies, unlike the mindless squawking of those that lived in the city. It wasn’t long before she felt that her perfect first day in Wayward was getting back on track.

“Red Riding!” A muffled voice of a man called out from the near distance. Deathly startled, Red stopped cold in her tracks. Holding her breath, she looked all around. The area was so thick with trees and shadows, whoever it was could have been two feet from her and she wouldn’t have known it.

“Is somebody there?”Red said, no louder than a whisper. “Over here,” the man said. “Come quick.” “Is that you, Wolf Boy?” Red thought it might be the mysterious rider, although the voice didn't sound as she remembered."I'd like you to take me to my motorcycle.”

“I don’t know anybody by that name,” the man said.

“Then who are you and how do you know me?” Red asked. “If you want to see me, you have to come and find me.” “Why don't you just come out and show yourself?”Red stood for an impatient moment waiting for a response. Nothing came. “Well if that's the way you’re going to be, I'm heading back home.” “Fine! Run right back to your granny’s house like a frightened little girl.” Red grunted in angst. She knew venturing off the path came with a lot of risk, considering she didn't know her wayaround the woods. It wouldn't take much for her to get lost and not be able to find the way back. “Don't tell me you're afraid, Little Red!” “Who said I’m afraid?” The man sang out with a taunt. “Little Red Riding is a fraidy cat. A foolish girl. A little brat!” “Hey, I’m not a fraidy cat!” “Fraidy cat! Fraidy cat! Little Red is a fraidy cat.” There wasn’t a chance Red would walk away now. She just had to know who was calling to her, even if doing someant taking a big risk.

“I haven’t got all day, Little Red fraidy cat!” “Fine! But this better be good.” As Red ventured off the path and into the woods, she did her best to note landmarks in hopes they would help her find the way back. She passed a hollowed log –– a pile of black stones –– and a tree with a large nest holding a family of chirping baby bluebirds.

“You're almost here. Hurry quickly.” The man’s voice sounded close now, and much deeper than before.

“I'm going as fast as I can. Would you tell me your name?” Again there was no response. Red knew it would be best to stop this foolishness and return to the path. She had walked in a straight line, so doing an immediate about face should lead her back to safety.

“You're not thinking of running away like a little fraidy cat, are you?” the man asked.

Red's need to prove her courage overpowered her sensibility. Venturing onward, she noted a tree bent over into a curved arch, with the top touching the ground. It seemed that such a large landmark would be easy to spot on her return trip to the path.

“If you won't say your name, at least tell me how you know who I am,” Red said.

“Don't be silly. Everybody in Wayward knows who youare, Red Riding.”

Red stopped cold. This had gone far enough. “If you refuse to tell me who you are, I'm going straight back to the path.” “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is. Now what's it going to be?”“Fine, go back to the path. If you can find your way.” The temperature dropped so quick that it made Red shiver and shake. In only seconds, she could see her own breath as she exhaled. There was no doubt she had made a dangerous mistake. Red did a quick about face and started walking as fast as she could in a straight line. Her eyes searched for the arched tree she had passed only moments ago –– she desperately wanted to see the nest of bluebirds –– or the pile of black rocks –– and the hollowed out tree, but none of these things were anywhere to be found.

“Keep going. The path can't be far now,” the man said with a snicker.

“Just leave me alone already!” Red walked even faster, but she was gasping for breath and shivering from the unnatural chill in the air. Whoever her unknown stalker was, it was sure he had done something sinister to prevent her from finding the path. “Don't tire yourself too much, Little Red. I like my meals to have a little fight in them.” His words pierced Red's ears like a knife. She had traveled so far to find her granny and still had much to learn of herself. The idea of her journey ending in such a foolish way was unacceptable. She knew it was time to stop running and faceher stalker head on. “Don't give up too easy, or I'll be very disappointed,” the man said.“Who said I’m giving up?” Red piled a few small stones near her feet. She then snapped a branch off a tree, creatinga jagged stake about a foot in length. With her makeshift weapon concealed behind her back, she struck an innocent pose. “I'm waiting, unless you're too much of a fraidy cat to show your face.”

“Don't fear, little dear. I'll be there to meet you just as soon as I can.”

“Don’t make me wait too long!”After a silent moment passed, a nearby patch of bushes began to shudder. It took every bit of courage Red had to stand her ground. When her stalker emerged, he was nothing more than a decrepit old man. He stood hunched and walking with the aid of a twisted wooden cane. Red felt disgusted by the sight of his withered skin and long and crooked nose.“Well hello there, Little Red Riding. The master didn’t tell me you were going to be so darn pretty,” the old man said with a raspy voice. “This is going to be so much fun.”Red eyed the old man oddly. “Master? Who are you talking about?”He pointed to the moon hovering high above. “It doesn’t matter because you’re not going to be around long enoughto ever meet him.”

Red cringed at the man’s foul stench. It reminded her of the smell of rotten eggs. She then spoke in a childish tone. “Gee, mister, I thought you were going to be something really big and scary, like a hairy troll or a smelly old orc.”

“You mean I don't frighten you, Little Red?”The old man approached her, standing only inches from her face.“Not even a bit. You look much too nice to be dangerous.”Red’s body temperature began to spike. A primal force deep down inside was taking control.

“Would it give you a fright if I said I had eaten men twice your size and many times your strength?”

“I can't believe a sweet old man like you would harm even a butterfly.”The old man snickered. “Then you are a fool, and you will die as one.”

Red giggled like a child. “You're funny! I like you!” She wanted to drive the stake into is heart at that very instant, buther instincts warned her to wait for the perfect moment. "I think we should be friends.” She fluttered her eyelashes.“Would you like to play a game with me?” “We’re already playing a game, Little Red. My game. I always win.” His mouth stretched open twice as wide as a normal man. The sight brought Red’s blood to a near boil, but she somehow managed to maintain her endearing smile.

“Have you ever kissed a girl, mister?” Red giggled.“I like kissing boys more than anything in the whole world.” The old man twitched in impatience. “Little girl, do you have any idea what I am?”

“Granny said if she catches me kissing one more boy, I'm going to get a spanking,” Red said.

The old man's massive jaw dropped open. He twitched in disbelief, unable to resist the lure of Red's childish charm. “Mister, would you like to kiss me?” Red gave her lips a pucker. The old man trembled with excitement. “This better not be some kind of trick, or I'll make you regret it in ways you could not possibly dream.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Red asked with a nervous crack in her voice. “I just thought a handsome man like you would be willing to grant me just one little kiss. Especially if you're going to eat me.”“Fine, if that's what you really want.” The old man looked around to make sure nobody was watching. “Don't think I'm going to let you go over a little peck on the lips.”

“I'm waiting.” Red leaned forward. “Please don't disappoint me.”The old man began panting like a dog as he moved in to kiss Red. His face was so hideous that she lost the fight to keep her eyes open. As soon as his clammy lips made contact with hers, Red's heart was overcome with furious intent. With a powerful yank, she grabbed the old man by the coat and pulled him close.

Their eyes snapped open at the same instant. “Now who's the foolish one,” Red said with a growl. She stabbed the sharpened end of the branch into the old man's chest. His mouth opened wide enough to swallow a person whole. Hemade a desperate grab for the stick, but Red kicked him to his knees. She watched through stone-cold eyes as he transformed into some sort of goblin with scaly, wart-laden, green flesh.

“Looks like I win this game,” Red said.The goblin grabbed Red by the hair. He pulled her head towards his mouth with all his might. Red struggled for a terrifying moment as she got closer and closer to his razor-sharp teeth. Just when all seemed lost, Red raised a foot and kicked the stake deeper into his chest. The beast groaned and fell backward.“You may have won this day, Little Red.” The goblin looked up to the moon. “He’s coming back to Wayward, and one way or another, you’re going to help him.”“Who is coming back?” “You’ll see soon enough.”

“Maybe so, but you’re not going to be around when it happens.” Red picked up one of the stones she had placed near her feet earlier and hurled it with all her might. It hit the goblin in the forehead so hard his eyes rolled back into his head. The vile creature that would have ended her life dropped to the ground with a thud.

Red stood trembling as its decrepit body withered up and turned to dust. The triumph of the battle overwhelmed her with a feeling so primal that it was impossible to resist a calling deep from within.“What's happening to me?”Looking down at her hands, Red saw razor-sharp nails were protruding from her fingertips. Empowered with immense strength, she swung an arm wide, slashing her claws through the trunk of an oak tree. With her arms raised high, she looked to the moon.“I hear you.”The voices of the lunar spirits were calling to Red, and this time she knew how to respond. The howl that came from her was so deep and loud that it echoed out perhaps through the entire forest. When it was finally over, she dashed away at lightning speed, leaving behind only a gust of wind in her wake.

Tonight's author is the amazingly talented Neo Edmund. Diverse in many ways, he likes to sink his teeth into just about anything cool. From comics to novels, to feature animation, television, and film.His newest creation is 'The Tale of Red Riding, Rise of the Alpha Huntress' a young adult fantasy novel, and it is climbing the Amazon charts faster than Batman chasing after Catwoman. Now I know what you're thinking, 'that's not horror,' but it is thriller. Oh, and it is bad-ass too.I'll give you the synopsis so you can see for yourself how good this book sounds. Oh and seriously, how freaking cool is this cover!

A Tale of Red Riding, Rise of the Alpha Huntress Blurb

In this action-packed twist on the beloved Grimm Fairytale, Red Riding will not only face dangerous wolves; she will have to face the wolf within herself. Gifted with the power to transform into a werewolf, she will rise to become a legendary warrior known as the Alpha Huntress. Accompanied by bad-boy heartthrob Wolfgang Helheim, Red will lead a tribe of loyal followers armed with mystical powers of their own against a vile lunar deity, who plans to thrust Wayward Woods into eternal night.

Yeah, that's pretty cool, huh?So what else can I tell you about this guy? Well, I COULD tell you that he's co-wrote a screenplay based on the Shayne Leighton 'Of Light of Darkness' series, due out approx 2015, and reading the synopsis of it, I can tell it's going to be amazing. It's full of vampires, elves and other fantasy...tell you what, I'll just post the full synopsis for you.

A Tale of Red Riding, Rise of the Alpha Huntress Synopsis

When one human stands before an army of impossible obstacles, the likelihood of overcoming them in this coming-of-age modern fairytale may result in war between light and darkness.

Abandoned as an infant in Prague, naive and strong-willed Charlotte Ruzikova was raised by one of the last Vampires left alive. As a human, she knows no other home than the one nestled deep in the woods of Eastern Europe, where Witches drew spells of enchantment, Phasers threw tea parties, and Elves are the closest in kin. Charlotte has lived her life in the dark with her Guardian, content to having him to herself and revelling in his attention, until she's realizes she wants more...

Resident medical doctor and Vampire, Valek Ruzik fears the day his ward would come of age and blossom into a fine woman, and he is forced to confront his own motives as time is of the essence once his past catches up to him, and their lives become endangered...

As genocide and war threatens their secret society, the dictator in power is ready to wipe out Valek's race, but Charlotte will not allow that to happen. Fighting for the only one she's ever loved and truly believed in, she will do whatever it takes to save their love...before the sun comes up and light takes over.

Neo Edmund Interview

Name: Neo Edmund

BLOG: http://askneo1.wordpress.comIMDB: http://imdb.me/neoedmundGOODREADS: http://www.goodreads.com/NeoEdmund FFACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/neoedmundFACEBOOK AUTHOR: https://www.facebook.com/TheOneNeoEdmundTWITTER: http://twitter.com/NeoEdmundxLink to Amazon page and or any other place that your books can be purchased AMAZON: http://amazon.com/author/neoedmundWhere did you grow up? Long Beach & Huntington Beach, California. I’ve never live further than 10 miles from the ocean and that’s how I like it. When did you start writing? When I was a kid, I loved writing short stories. The tales usually fell into the realm of fan fiction, following the adventures of Luke and Han, Optimus Prime and Megatron, or whatever cartoons and comics I was into at the time. In high school, I got into theater and started writing short skits. Creating my own scenes was a lot more fun than picking scenes from existing plays to perform and direct. Things took a bad turn in10th grade when I ended up with a bitter old hag of an English teacher. She said a lot of mean stuff about my writing, and it really stifled my creative spirit. It wasn’t until after high school that I started writing again. It's just something I had to do and I simply refuse to ever give up on my dreams!Is it something that you have always wanted to do? Yep! I’ve always wanted to write comics, books, cartoons, and TV shows for a living. I’m thrilled to say that I’ve accomplished this goal a dozen times over and things are getting better all the time. I’d also love to go into space! Can’t wait for the space tourism thing to kick in! LOL! What is your favourite genre to read, and do you have any favourite books or authors you would like to recommend? I especially enjoy reading YA Fantasy. I’m a sucker for anything by Neil Gaiman. I just finished The Daughter of Smoke and Bone by Laini Taylor. Such a fantastic read. It grabbed me right out of the gate and never let go. There is another book I just love called Ready Player One by Ernest Cline. It's a gem for anybody that is a fan of 80's pop culture or dystopia Sci-fi.

What about to write? YA Fantasy Fiction! I like writing teen characters because that's the age when we're still discovering ourselves and learning about the way the world works. This being said, more and more adults are reading YA than ever before. I think this is because the books usually require a lot less reader commitment. The language is simpler. The word counts are usually shorter. The plots aren't overly complex. The pacing tends to be a lot quicker. Even still, these tales can deliver a satisfying reader experience. It feels more like watching a two-hour movie or a multi-part TV episode. |Do you write full time? If not, what do you do? Writing has been my full time profession for the last 2+ years. It’s an amazing way of life, but I’ve had to learn to be my own boss. As a freelance writer it’s vital to always meet deadlines. Do you ever base your characters on anyone that you know, or are they solely from your imagination? I usually try not to base characters on people I know. I prefer to conjure up characters from my imagination and then spend a lot of time getting to know them. I like to daydream about how it would be to spend time with each character. What would an afternoon be like with my Red Riding? How would it be to hang out with her friends or go on a adventure with them. I try to think of them as real people who are going to have opinions about how I portray them. If they disagree, they will tell me and demand changes.About your bookTell us about your latest book. The story/plot. In this action-packed twist on the beloved Grimm Fairytale, Red Riding will not only face dangerous wolves; she will have to face the wolf within herself. Gifted with the power to transform into a werewolf, she will rise to become a legendary warrior known as the Alpha Huntress. Accompanied by bad-boy heartthrob Wolfgang Helheim, Red will lead a tribe of loyal followers armed with mystical powers of their own against a vile lunar deity, who plans to thrust Wayward Woods into eternal night.What gave you the idea? This story has been around for almost 10 years. The first version I wrote was a live action TV pilot, which I pitched around Hollywood and got rejected across the board. Producers told me that people wouldn't be interested in fairy tale adaptations. HA! At one point I was developing the project as an animated series with Jim Henson Studios, but the animation networks didn't feel that an animated action series with a girl in the lead would work. Go figure that. The novel came about largely out of my own frustration. I had a story I wanted to tell and I was going to just do it, and with the awesome new world of self-publishing through Amazon, I decided to seize the opportunity.What genre is it? YA Paranormal Fantasy What are your hopes for it?

At this point I intend this book to be the first in a series of seven books. I’d also love to see it developed for film or animation, but right now I am happy working on the books.What’s the next project that you’re working on? There are many projects on my plate in the realm of film, animation and comics. I'm actively working on the follow up novel for Red Riding. The plan is to have the new book out in early 2014. I'm also working on further issues of a comic books series that I am writing for Zenescope called Jurassic Strike Force. In the realm of film, I am working on a vampire hunter movie called Clan of the Vein and I also wrote the feature film adaptation of Shayne Leighton's novel Of Light and Darkness.

As you can see, this man has many talents, but if that's not enough to convince you, then stay tuned for an excerpt of his book coming up later.

Please go over and give his author page a ’like’ so that you can keep up to date with all his awesomeness.

Hi everyone,so, today is the start of 'Horror / thriller month' and I'm going to kick it off with the new cover reveal and blurb for Limerence.

I hope that you love it as much as I do. I truly believe that it encompasses everything that the story represents. From yearning desire, to burning love, and twisted revenge, and I think that anyone that has read the story will understand the image. For anyone who hasn't, well, I hope that it makes you want to read it now!I'd love to know what you all think please. Thanks again for all of your encouragement, and as always...

“Mia, how are you today?”“I’m good, hungry.” I mirror his smile as I look at the selection of food available. “Of course, aren’t you always. What would you like? Something sweet? Somethingspicy perhaps?” He licks his lips greedily and rubs his hands together. Donny is always hungry, though he should have learnt to control his thirst by now. He is far older than Evan and I, and even older than most of the other vampires around here. His eyes gleam at me. I don’t know how he does this every day; the smell alone would drive me mad, but he seems to relish in it. Perhaps his pleasure to it is because of his constant overindulgence. “Sweet please, Donny,” I say and hand him my glass.

He turns to the selection of humans behind him, and reaching for a youngish man he pulls the seal from his wrist and holds it over my glass. The man’s eyes are glassy and hollow. He stares at nothing.

My stomach grumbles as the glass fills, and I urge him to hurry. My fangs unsheathe in expectancy. Down boys, not this time.

Donny reseals the wound and turns back to me with my now full glass of sweet negative B.

“Thanks.” I smile wider this time and hurry to a table by the window. I want to sit and enjoy the sun on my face whilst I drink. It’s cold out, but the sun still rises each day in retaliation of the coming winter.

The first taste is always the best. That first millisecond when the blood touches your taste buds is as if every one of my senses are being caressed by the hand of God. Every stroke, every touch, awakens my very soul, devouring my body from the inside out. Though without doubt, not by God.

I stare at my glass for a moment, watching the gentle waves of red caress the sides of the thin glass; almost teasing myself, and then bring it to my lips. The smell makes my face flush, like an ocean breeze, the wave caresses my skin. I lift it to my lips, tipping it a fraction until the blood drips, in what seems like slow motion, on to the tip of my tongue. The fire ignites instantaneously within me upon that one drop, my eyes blurring upon the heady satisfaction and I tip it further and swallow the full glass down eagerly. I can’t stop the moan of pleasure that leaves me. It’s warm and magnificent, and when I’m finished I pick up my glass and go back over to Donny with a grin.

“Melon?”I ask, tipping my head to one side.

“Ha ha, yes, melon. How do you do it? You always get it right,” he laughs and claps his hands together. Mad Donny is what the others call him. Mad for his crazy concoctions or mad for how he had been in his human life I will probably never know.

“Not always,” I laugh back and hand him my glass.

“When? When did you not guess correctly?”

I think for a moment, letting my mind go back several weeks. “The pizza. I didn’t recognise the pizza.” Yes, I’ve already started to forget the taste of some things, pizza being one of them.“That’s true, though no one guessed correctly that day. It was hard to get the flavour of pizza into their blood.” He smiles again. “More?”

I look at the man sat in the chair. His skin is still full of colour, his lips plump, but it’s his eyes that give it away. The faraway look in his eyes. As if he’s already dead. Maybe he is, it’s just his body hasn’t given up on him yet. It’s sad really. A sad, pathetic end to what was once, more than likely, a very happy life.

So, here it is. The trailer for Life ever after:Nina's story. Part one.I hope you like it, I freaking love it, and am so excited for you to all read the story when it goes live. The anthology is due for release on the 31st August if everything goes to plan, so don't forget to sign up to my website so that you receive the blog in your email with all the links on.Also, don't forget to add Fusion & Odium to your Goodreads bookshelf

Life Ever After Blurb

Life Ever After. Nina’s Story: Part One.

When the dead begin to rise, it’s time to put your differences aside and run!

​After another blazing argument with Ben, Nina blows off work and heads to do what any woman does in that frame of mind–shop. However, strange things are beginning to happen all around her: a fight breaks out at the store and a someone is seriously injured, yet no one seems to give a damn; and as she drives back home, the streets are oddly deserted. Just when she thinks things can’t get any stranger, her neighbours begin to pack up and leave town. It’s only when Ben’s pickup screeches to the kirb and he goes on the hunt for his grandfather’s old Smith and Wesson that she truly realises she’s having more than just a strange day. With her backyard rapidly filling with her now un-dead neighbours, it’s time that she and Ben make a break for it, and find sanctuary somewhere else.

So here it is...finally! The cover and title release for the anthology that I will be in.Here's the pitch for you to feast your eyes upon...Fusion: A collection of short stories from Breakwater Harbor Books’ authors

Featuring gripping Independent authors from around the world, FUSION is the first collection of short works published by Breakwater Harbor Books.Contributing heart-pumping tales of Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror and Crime are seven stories that will thrill you, rivet you and some will even make you sleep with the light on. Authors from across a wide variety of genres, Dee Harrison, Ivan Amberlake, Claire C. Riley, Scott J. Toney, Mindy Haig, Cara Goldthorpe and C.M.T. Stibbe.Here's the tag-lines for you to feast your eyes upon.The Sliver of Abilon – A Mirrorsmith Tale – 'and you thought it was safe to look in the mirror?'

Diary of the Gone - Without a girlfriend, bullied by the Principal’s son, and haunted by the dead, Callum Blackwell thinks his life can’t get any worse. But he’s wrong.

Life Ever After. Nina's Story: Part one. – When the dead begin to rise, it's time to put your differences aside and run!

NovaFall – When the Meteor falls, the essences will come, forging flesh and planetary souls as one.

Cybilla. – To claim his Muse, one man must find the gate between the mortal and the immortal worlds.

Capturing Perfection– An artist's tale of love, loss and beauty in Renaissance Milan

Until The Ninth Hour – Until a man loses his daughter to a serial killer, until he loses his best friend, until he is down on his luck, Darryl Williams must put all thoughts of retaliation out of his mind.

I look at Stephen. His beard is growing through, and his hair is a mess. His face is tired and worn down with rings of anguish under his eyes, like only someone who has lost too much would have.

“Who did you lose?” I ask.

He closes his eyes for a second, but he doesn’t reply and I know that I’ve struck a nerve in him.

“Was it your wife?”

His nostrils flare, but before I can say anything else, a little voice enquires behind him.

“Daddy?”

Stephen grimaces.

“Daddy? Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

Stephen’s jaw grinds furiously before he responds. “In a minute, Jack. I’ll be there in a minute, son.”

My shoulders slump as Ben comes back. “You okay?” He asks.

“Yes.”I reply quietly. “Give him the food.”

Stephen’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his eyes recognises my kindness. He keeps his gun level with me, but I see his finger lift off the trigger.

In-case you wanted a little more back story on Stephen and his son, here's the link to a short flash fiction piece I did for Books of the Dead Press recently. Go have a read, and leave a comment letting me know what you think.

Ready for more? Well keep your eyes peeled and watch this space, because I'll be sharing with you the trailer for Life Ever After at the end of this week! Fusion releases at the end of the month, and remember it will be FREE in eBook! Yep, you heard me, FREE. So add it to your Goodreads bookshelf, watch my Facebook page and get ready to download...